val backstory oneshots

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val backstory oneshots

Post by rat king (em) on Sun Oct 09, 2016 11:45 pm

i should prob make an actual character sheet THAT'LL GO HERE
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Re: val backstory oneshots

Post by rat king (em) on Sun Oct 09, 2016 11:46 pm

valentine hooks up her jammer to the keypad outside the hospital blood bank’s door and lets it get to work disabling the alarm and trying pin combinations, but there’s an analog lock as well and she smiles to herself. it’s always nice to stretch her b&e muscles and she hasn’t had a chance to lock pick in several months. she pulls her kit out of one of her jacket pockets and dives in, shuts her eyes to feel the delicate balance and weight of the pins against her pick, wiggles it against the tumblers carefully. her smile broadens to a grin when after a few minutes she feels them click into place. she leaves the lock with no damage. valentine has come a long way from the 12-year-old that learned out of necessity by jamming knives into locks.
it’s cool & dark in the blood bank and the blood, her prize, is sorted by type in recessed refrigerated cases. she scoops up a few vials of o+, tucks them gently into an insulated bag, and slips them into the largest interior pocket of her jacket. next on her list is a place to hide away for a couple hours without being found or disturbed. hand to hand with a drip in & bleeding is not her idea of a good time and a good transfusion and purge takes her around three hours to be comfortable. an iv pole would be nice but isn’t necessary, and she has her own transfusion kit all packed up and slung across her back.
she posts up in disused closet, braces the door shut with some broken equipment. she unrolls the pack and starts to lay out her kit. gloves up, assembles the blood bag, the the needle, the drip chamber, the iv line. she puts the blood bag propped up on a high shelf, settles down on the floor. it takes a moment of digging around with the needle to find the vein she needs in the crease of her elbow but she’s old hand at this. she starts pushing it slowly, waits until she feels the rush, and steels herself.
valentine picks a spot, a place on her chest she knows will bleed fast but not too fast. undoes the buttons on her shirt to bare it. she takes her razor, laser sharpened, and carves carefully, gritting her teeth. deep enough to bleed heavy, to scar, not too deep that she won’t be able to compress it and stop the bleeding when she needs to later. making the cut is easy, barely any resistance, a hot searing pain and terrible pressure for a moment and then a raw ache. the blade is sharp enough that it feels like slicing through butter. immediately blood wells up to the surface and then starts dripping into the vessel she’s places below it. the shirt’s done for but there’s no need to ruin her pants.
she feels light-headed at the pain, at first, but valentine rides it out, waves on waves, until it’s manageable and she can open her eyes. already she feels her head clearing, sharp, feels her lungs expanding fully. she lets herself soar, a little, picking apart the pain with her mind, examining, experiencing. the effects of the purging are instant. the build up from her magic had become so heavy and poisonous in her veins that it was affecting her every movement, inescapable, and from the long red line on her chest it pools outs of her. her thigh would have been better, would have bled faster and better but she needs to be ready to go at any moment and fleeing a hospital and into the city in her boxers is not exactly the ideal. she closes her eyes and her mind settles down to wait.
when she first figured out this worked she used a needle, collected her old blood in vials, but that took too long and didn’t work as well. in an emergency, sure, that would work, but pulling from her flesh like this and the giving of pain and the ritual of the razor- the effect comes in a heady rush and open her up. she forgets sometime the impracticality of magic, the messiness, the art. the beauty, if she looks at if from the right angle.
after a couple hours in a near meditative state, pliable and calm from the pain and the blood loss and the lightness in her body, valentine hears traffic picking up in the hallway. she starts packing up, wads up some gauze and applies pressure to her chest, slides the iv from her arm. she disassembles her kit, wraps the pieces in plastic, and rolls it back up. she’ll clean and disinfect it. she rips off her bloodied shirt, tapes the gauze down, and pulls on a fresh shirt. she’s down to three now, should probably pick up some more. it’s not like they aren’t doing well. but the instinct to be able to pack everything she owns into a bag light enough that she can run flat out with it on her back will probably never leave her. she’s splurged on mechs and parts and weapons, sure, but there’s nothing she wouldn’t leave without a single thought.
she slips out into the fluorescent-lit hall and then slides into the ebbing crowd of the hospital. the sun is coming up and nurses and sanctioned healers are starting their rounds. she figures she looks like shit and probably blends in well enough, but she feels incredible, better than she has in weeks, maybe months. valentine tentatively reaches into herself, feels for the hot molten knot of her magic, and is comforted by its presence now that they’ve reached a temporary truce. she can understand it, when she’s clear headed, a feral beast that lives in her that only wants a sacrifice now and again. valentine can do that.
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